Fitting In

I remember the day my mom taught me to make the sign of the cross. I felt like I had just discovered some great astonishing truth. In a way I truly had. But this isn’t about a ritual or an action with deeper meaning that I can capture in a short blog post. It’s about fitting in.

I was baptized as a newborn but I have no memory of going to Mass with my parents when I was a child. When my mom taught me how to make the sign of the cross, I was probably around 9 years old. All my Catholic friends had long since made their First Communions and were champion cross makers. I could not even remember in what order to start – heart, head, shoulder? Left side or right side? I looked like a novice - or worse - an impostor. I needn’t have worried as I wasn’t even going to Mass so nobody was going to discover my secret.

I did go to church sometimes with a friend who belonged to the Church of the Nazarene. There was zero cross making there! But I didn’t fit in there either. In Sunday school we were learning about the Christmas story and one boy asked the teacher what a virgin was. I was 11 at the time and I understood what the word meant and sat there in wide eyed disbelief that this was going to be discussed. The teacher never missed a beat and responded that a virgin was a lady who had not had a baby yet. It was the perfect answer in that situation but I felt awfully worldly.

Around that time the church also had an altar call during their service. My friend whispered encouragement to me, to go up there and dedicate myself to God but I sat rooted in my seat. It’s not because I was Catholic that I hesitated but I was so afraid I’d do something wrong and embarrass myself.

Several years later I was in high school and we took a field trip to the abbey in Mission. We entered the chapel and my Italian friend was right at home, blessing herself with holy water, genuflecting towards the tabernacle. I felt like a dunce. I wanted so much to know instinctively how to do those things, to have them come naturally, to understand why we did those things. I felt like a stranger in my own church.

Many years later I crossed myself correctly as I sneaked into the back of my church after a very long absence. I knew why I needed to genuflect – and Who I was genuflecting to. I even remembered when to sit and stand during that scary Mass. Eventually after some months it all began to feel comfortable again.

At the same time, I still felt I would never be Catholic enough. I’d be sitting at Mass or at some holy presentation with all the other ladies but squirming in my seat. I had come back to the Church via a long and twisted road. I hadn’t lived a pure and pious life and I struggled with some of the teachings. I considered myself damaged goods.

But an interesting thing happens when you begin to trust Jesus and allow him to heal you. He does meet you where you are but he loves you too much to leave you there. He presents the Truth and helps you to understand why he teaches what he does. He knows that transformation can be terrifying. But he doesn’t leave you alone. He sends his friends to accompany you, to pray for you, to encourage you.

And then one day, after you’ve experienced healing, you’re sitting at Mass or at a presentation and you think - I am Home. I am home and I am healed and I have joy. I was lost but I was found. I fit in, not because I am perfect or because I know all the right gestures and responses, I fit in because Jesus has made a place for me in his Sacred Heart.